


Heading Off In The Opposite Direction

by mickytaka558



Series: Begginings and Endings (It Will Never Be the Same Again) [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6384823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickytaka558/pseuds/mickytaka558
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You drank quite a lot,” Kenjirō says at a certain point and freezes immediately at the incapacity to hold himself back. But he wants this, he tells himself soon after. He wants him.</p><p>But where has he seen him already? If only he wanted to turn to face him so he could take a closer look.</p><p>“I guess...” he hears and this voice...</p><p>It dawns on him.</p><p>“Wait, are you... Iwaizumi Hajime from Aobajōsai?”</p><p>***</p><p>A spin-off about Iwaizumi and Shirabu, set during the events of It's All About Getting Used To It.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drink Away the Ghosts of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You drank quite a lot,” Kenjirō says at a certain point and freezes immediately at the incapacity to hold himself back. But he wants this, he tells himself soon after. He wants him.
> 
> But where has he seen him already? If only he wanted to turn to face him so he could take a closer look.
> 
> “I guess...” he hears and this voice...
> 
> It dawns on him.
> 
> “Wait are you... Iwaizumi Hajime from Aobajōsai?”

“ _I love_ you _. Is there anything that could possibly be worse than this?”_

_***_

There are three months left and then it's going to be two years. Kenjirō finds it amusing - in a cruel way, certainly – how the time has gone by in a blink of an eye and yet, here he is, remembering just a few words spoken in a deep voice that makes wild shivers run down his spine at the only memory.

A distant memory.

And yet so neat he can almost see the same scenes happen in front of his eyes as soon as he is left alone with his thoughts.

He thought it would have stopped after he was gone, but he wasn't, _isn't_ so lucky apparently. Despite his struggles and his desperate attempts to focus on Tsutomu's promising abilities, Ushijima Wakatoshi had never been chased away from the back of his mind, from every vein in his body, every drop of rushing blood.

It was hard to quit volleyball once high school was over, but it was the right thing to do, he figured. It wasn't the same without _him._

When he filled his college application form, he knew where Ushijima Wakatoshi was – the prestigious Tōdai in the capital, a place where every student with some sense in his or her head would want to be to have the brightest of futures.

Kenjirō signed in for Tohoku.

“ _You are wasted at Tohoku, Kenjirō. You managed to pass the entrance exams at Shiratorizawa. Tōdai should be no problem for you!”_ his mother had told him, while his father was offering to pay him the whole scholarship.

There was no way to convince him.

He doesn't want to get caught once again in the net of unrequited feelings, jealousy and the pain of seeing the only person he's ever cared for being happy with their loved one.

He doesn't want to see Oikawa Tooru ever again.

Even though his choice was clear, and he is not regretting it even up to today, he still can't help but wonder why the hell his heart is hurting after all these months he spent away from his former ace. This burning feeling in his chest keeps spreading all the way to the pit of his stomach and legs, until every single part of him is consumed by a heaviness that makes it hard to breathe.

It never leaves.

Not when he buries himself with homework and assignments until he falls asleep on his desk or drops unconscious somewhere on the way to his bed (he is kind of glad his father kept their old apartment so he is able to live alone; if he were to have a roommate, he would probably end up killed by the worry his behavior would bring upon him every single day).

Not when he goes out and runs around the neighborhood until his lungs and legs are screaming, begging him to stop.

Not even when he ends up in beds of strangers after doses of alcohol he's never even though he would consume in his entire life when he was at school, when he was careful with his actions, when there was someone he wanted to impress.

_It never leaves._

TV and other media don't really help – Wakatoshi's face is everywhere; Tooru's face is everywhere too. As if they wanted to endlessly haunt him without letting him escape even when he can't take it anymore.

Today at least he has managed to avoid every single advertisement that could contain even only their names, every channel that could have shown commercials they have been called out to model for. He even skipped on today's sports' news and just went out without even checking the weather.

There are clouds.

He hopes it won't rain.

Though, even if it starts, the library is close enough to his apartment for him to avoid getting soaked, so he should have no trouble getting back.

When he turns the corner to reach the main street, he believes his mind must be overworked or just overwhelmed with stress, because he can hear a voice coming from somewhere in front of him, hidden among the crowd surrounding him.

And yet, it is distinguishable.

And it can't be.

“Ushiwaka-chan, I know the last time you saw Captain-san was the day you lost against Karasuno, but please try to at least smile a little. You always look so pissy.”

“I am behaving like usual, Oikawa.”

Kenjirō stops in his tracks, a few meters from the couple walking towards him, too distracted to even notice. His hands ball into fists in his pocked as his brown eyes watch them come closer.

Closer.

_Closer._

_He_ sees him.

“Shirabu.”

Kenjirō's breath hitches in his throat, the world stills around them. He blinks once, twice, but the image in front of him doesn't change. Ushijima Wakatoshi stands in front of him, taller than he remembers him, much stronger. His presenve hovers around him, making his knees involuntarily buckle and it takes every single ounce of self-control to prevent himself to collapsing on his knees in front of him.

Tooru stands next to him, taller as well, shoulders a little wider than the last time they spoke. Those hazel eyes meet Kenjirō's and all he wants to do it sink into the sidewalk.

The last time they spoke...

Kenjirō is still struggling to forget, because Tooru has always gotten to him even when his interest has always been elsewhere. He wonders if the older setter even remembers his name – maybe it'd be better if he doesn't. Why would he, even?

Kenjirō swallows.

He mentally orders himself to get his shit together and immediately bows. “Ushijima-san, good evening.” He barely recognizes his own voice, so fast and loud and... Relieved?

He straightens up, meets a brilliant gold that shines even though the same color is painting the gray clouds of the sky. It's not going to rain. _It's not going to rain._ The younger setter's throat hurts badly.

“Hello to you too, Shirabu-chan.”

 _Shirabu-chan?_ Kenjirō blinks, because last time it was Ken-chan. It doesn't matter though – he can clearly hear the fake hurt in his cheerful voice and even though he doesn't seem dangerous has he does on court, Kenjirō still feels inferior.

“Oikawa-san,” he says to acknowledge him and then his attention is back to Wakatoshi. The man is saying nothing and is limiting himself to staring down at him. The younger setter wants to hear that voice again.

“What brings you here, Ushijima-san?”

“We came here to visit our families. We shall be returning to Tokyo in two days. Is it the same for you?”

Kenjirō shakes his head. “I live here.”

Wakatoshi tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You decided to stay in Sendai in the end?”

“Yes.”

“What a waste.”

Kenjirō's eyes widen. _What?_ Before he has the chance to ask though, Tooru barges in. “Ushiwaka-chan, you should really stop judging people's life choices,” he tells him and the younger setter understands. Because Tooru gives him an understanding glance, letting him know he _understands_ as well.

Wakatoshi is so dense at times.

But then, Kenjirō figures, any sane person in this world would have forgotten their past unsuccessful love life after a year at most. He must be an idiot.

That doesn't change the fact that Tooru is at fault for most of his despair.

He can't help but remember their last conversation. The older setter was kind to him – more than kind – and let him vent and tell him how he knew nothing about what he went trough. And he remembers also regretting those words as soon as he left the locker room, because of course Tooru went through much worse, wanting to beat the unstoppable ace.

Maybe that's the reason he's avoiding to meet his eyes.

“Oikawa, he was a great student in high school. He could have aimed higher if he wanted to.”

Tooru shrugs and looks at him, offers him a strangely warm smile, a silent approval. And it is everything it takes for Kenjirō to gather the little bit of courage he has and ask, “Ushijima-san, Oikawa-san, would you like to have coffee? I would like to... _catch up_ with you.”

Tooru nods, pleased that the other setter had picked up on his sign. “Sure, we could-”

“Oikawa.”

Wakatoshi interrupts, and Kenjirō's skin is soon invaded by goosebumps. He wants to hear him talk more, he wants to hear him speak until his voice is part of his memories and he can't forget it anymore. It is not healthy, but it is stronger than him.

“Kuroo and Bokuto must already be waiting for us. We should not let ourselves be held back.”

Kenjirō doesn't miss the way Tooru's eyes flicker towards him, and he wants to part his lips to say something, but then he notices Wakatoshi's gaze. He isn't even looking at him, gold only lost on Tooru's figure.

“But he's your precious teammate! You must want to know how he's been these past two years! I'm sure those two aren't even there yet.”

To be honest, Kenjirō would have never expected such insistence coming from Tooru – they've never been anything to each other, after all, and he highly doubts that this is all because of the little bit of pity he managed to make him feel that day.

Still, he wants to get in this fight, he wants to win this fight, even if its prize is a mere half an hour with Wakatoshi. Twenty minutes are more than enough too. He takes a step forward, opens his mouth, but then it happens.

Wakatoshi's large hand travels on Tooru's back in the gentlest of touches, his gold eyes softens in a loving way Kenjirō has never seen from him. Not once. And even though it is incredibly small, almost imperceptible, all of it belongs to Oikawa Tooru.

***

“ _ **I can't reciprocate your feelings, Shirabu. I apologize.”**_

***

“I believe Shirabu must be busy as well. We can do this another time.”

Tooru exhales heavily, but the way they look at each other for a split moment is enough for Kenjirō's stomach to drop, his will to disappear.

“It's alright, Oikawa-san.”

Tooru looks at him with an apologetic smile and Kenjirō appreciates it. It doesn't change the fact that he still wants to punch him in that beautiful face of his because this is all about him. Everything has always been about him.

“It was nice seeing you here, Shirabu,” Wakatoshi's deep voice says. The younger setter blinks once, twice, trying to focus on the tall figure in front of him, trying to memorize it to the best of his abilities when he should only be trying to forget. But he can't. He is weak. _He can't._

Without waiting for a reply, the couple starts to walk again and goes past him without giving him a second glance, disappearing into the crowd and making Kenjirō feel isolated with his thoughts all over again.

_Damn them._

It takes him a long moment to regain control of his body, and when he does, he decides to drop every single plan he's made for tonight, which consisted in even more studying. He heads to his apartments, wastes no time in taking off his clothes and taking a short, but steaming hot shower, scrubbing himself until his skin is red, but softer than ever.

He wants to go out tonight.

He wants to drink until that face is no longer printed in the back of his mind like the darkest of curses – he might even look for someone to go home with, someone who could _fuck_ him until he can't see straight, until he is a mess.

When he is finished, he heads out of the bathroom to look for fresh clothes in his wardrobe – he takes out a shirt and a pair of pants – casual but still a classic that fits whatever place he will barge in tonight.

An hour after he got to his apartment, he is ready to head out of it. He locks the door – he hopes he won't be back until next morning, and without thinking twice, he heads to the bar where he's spend most of his desperate nights.

It is a long walk from his place – he takes a look at the watch on his wrist, which indicates a quarter past nine already. He won't get there before ten if he walks, but the chilly winter wind doesn't really make him mind. He likes the cold – it is his favorite season, always so perfectly matching his thoughts, his feelings.

The route through the park is his favorite.

At night is even better, because he doesn't have to look at happy couples walking by, making him feel like a loser, as if he couldn't stand up on his feet even if he wanted to.

Tonight there is none of that, and he heads to the pond in the middle and observes the empty water. He adjusts his coat over himself in an attempt to make himself warmer, but the wind doesn't help. He stares at his own reflection for a while – it is barely noticeable, making him seem trapped at the bottom.

He shakes his head, shakes off his thoughts and walks away.

By the time he arrives at the bar, it is already ten o'clock. There aren't still many people, but it will take half an hour at most for it to fill up completely. The bartender greets him from behind the counter and he greets back, forcing a small smile onto his face.

His brown eyes then move to look at the place where he usually sits at, but he finds it already occupied by a man with dark hair with a collection of empty glasses in front of him. He takes a step forward – he looks handsome enough from where he stands, but he still has that familiar look Kenjirō can't quite recall when he has seen him before.

But there is something that keeps telling him to approach him.

Without his mind's consent, his feet start moving.

The man doesn't even look up when he walks behind him, and instead empties a glass of water before focusing on the one filled with long island iced tea.

“Is this seat free?” Kenjirō asks, finally. He wants to see his face better, he needs it. A quiet yes is mumbled after what would seem a moment of hesitation if the glasses in front of him didn't say otherwise.

He still doesn't turn around, but Kenjirō has his permission now and slides into the seat with grace, without making any noise. He looks at his side, finds the man's head lowered, his right hand playing with the straw and poking the ice cubes floating in the alcoholic drink, almost hesitant to start drinking again.

“You drank quite a lot,” Kenjirō says at a certain point and freezes immediately at the incapacity to hold himself back. But he wants this, he tells himself soon after. He wants him.

But where has he seen him already? If only he wanted to turn to face him so he could take a closer look.

“I guess...” he hears and _this voice..._

It dawns on him.

“Wait are you... Iwaizumi Hajime from Aobajōsai?”

As soon as his words leave his mouth, the man, Hajime – oh, it is him after all; why is he feeling this strange? So... relieved – blinks and then his eyes widen. His hand abandons the straw and immediately wraps around the tall glass. He still isn't looking to his side and Kenjirō is sick of this.

“Why are you asking?”

He finally dares to reach out, lies his hand on his shoulder.

Only then, _finally_ , he is turning around and brown eyes meet green and Kenjirō smiles slightly, adjusting his fringe with his free hand.

The bartender approaches him and he orders himself the same drink Hajime is drinking as well. He loves long island tea – it is the perfect drink to start this night.

The setter is more than pleased to notice that Hajime is staring at him still, his lips slightly parted, lips wet. “Are you- I don't remember your name. But you used to play in Shiratorizawa, didn't you? As Ushiwaka's setter.”

It is definitely an unpleasant thing to hear, but Kenjirō smiles nonetheless. “Yeah, it's me.” He offers him his hand, satisfied when it meets calluses and warmth.

“Shirabu Kenjirō; it's been a while.”

The wing spiker's hand lingers a little more than it should, holding Kenjirō's hand in a strong grip the latter doesn't mind at all. Only after a minute or so, when the bartender brings his drink on the counter, do they part.

“Sorry, I didn't remember. I... I'm a little wasted. Very wasted,” he corrects himself and chuckles, probably trying to pull off a joke, but Kenjirō's eyes focus on all those glasses. He raises an eyebrow, tilts his head to the side, thinking about what to do next.

He takes a sip of his drinks and then decides to begin their conversation. He can't let it die here – all the memories he has from high school are back to his head and suddenly there is only Iwaizumi Hajime, standing by Oikawa Tooru on the other side of the net, eyes focused, his strong arms lying at his side.

Kenjirō wonders what those could feel like under his hands.

Excitement is born in the pit of his stomach.

“So,” he begins. “What has made you so miserable to make you empty six glasses?”

Hajime turns to his side; blinks once, twice. “There are eight.”

The setter chuckles. “No, there are six.”

Hajime blinks once more, than shakes his head and then buries his face in his hands and Kenjirō looks at the bartender, points at the empty glass of water. He understands immediately and goes to fill another one. In less than a minute, he is placing it in front of Hajime, who gives him a confused look.

“Drink it all,” the setter orders, moves closer because he is eying his exposed neck and it looks so tempting he can't hold back. He doesn't want to get drunk tonight.

He wants to forget, yes.

But not all of it.

Hajime listens to him, surprisingly, and swallows it all down.

“Good,” Kenjirō whispers, making the other smile. _Good._ He orders another glass and empties that one too. He seems to be feeling better.

“So, are you going to answer my question?” The setter tries again.

And this time Hajime nods, his eyes narrow.

“Oikawa.”

It must be some kind of cruel irony, Kenjirō thinks, for both of them. He can't help but feel empathy with him and soon all those glasses make more sense. It almost makes him want to stop giving him water. Almost.

He wants him even more now.

The way Hajime is watching him makes his body feel warm.

“Oh, now I understand.”

It is then that he hears some shuffling of clothes next to him, and when he turns to look, he finds Hajime closer to him than before, green more intense than before. “What is it?” he asks him, curious to know, hopeful that it's the same for him.

“I don't know.”

Kenjirō chuckles and shifts a little closer.

The night goes on in thoughtless words – short questions on the setter's part, shirt answers on the spiker's. But they don't stop staring at each other and soon, Kenjirō's hand is moving forward despite Hajime's gaze on it, and its fingers are intertwining with the belt loops and pulling him closer.

As Kenjirō thought, the place is now much more crowded and hotter and the light grimace on Hajime's face makes it clear that this is starting to bother him.

Kenjirō nudges his knee gently with his and Hajime's lips part.

“I...”

All of a sudden, a girl bumps into Hajime – how she does it makes no sense to the setter, but when she turns to look at him with unfocused eyes and a smile so idiotic it makes him want to punch her, he realizes she is drunk as hell. She apologizes and, before Kenjirō can say anything, Hajime is waving her off with a hand. She leaves, grabs a boy's arm and drags him to the toilet.

Kenjirō swallows the last bits of his drink then and then reaches into the pocket of his jacket to pull out his wallet. Being a regular customer here, he knows every price of every single drink, so he pulls out enough money to cover his drinks and Hajime's and a tip to the bartender.

“Tonight's on me,” he tells Hajime when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

Hajiem opens his mouth to speak but he shuts it with one half-lidded look coming from Kenjirō.

They both stand up, Kenjirō's hand still on the spiker's pants.

“Let's go.”

Hajime nods and follows him out.

“Yeah.”

The air of the outside is nice and when the setter looks at Hajime, now much sobered up, but still flushed and hot all over, he finds him somehow pleased.

“Let's go to my place,” Hajime says and Kenjirō agrees, his hand now abandoning the loops and taking a hold of Hajime's. “Do you live alone?”

“No, but my roommates aren't home.”

Kenjirō hums.

They don't talk after that. They walk quickly – Hajime is quite great with his balance despite his state. Kenjirō likes it quite a lot.

When they reach the spiker's building, they take the elevator and in a blink of an eye, they are on the third floor, where his apartment is. Hajime digs into his pockets, trying to find the key, and when he does, he struggles enough to unlock the door, so Kenjirō does it for him.

The place is dark, Kenjirō notices, but he has no time to make sure it's completely empty, because there are hands on his waist, pulling him back, spinning him. And then there are lips on his, hot and wet.

The scent of alcohol is even stronger now that there is just the two of them – Kenjirō can taste it even after all the water he made him drink.

Hajime pulls away to breathe.

But it lasts only a second.

“Are you sure no one's home?”

Kenjirō's words are mere whispers, knocked out of his lungs when his back is maneuvered and slammed against the now closed door of the apartment. Hajime kisses him fervently, pulling away for a short moment to whisper a heated, “Yes.”

It doesn't take much longer for both of their jackets to end up gracelessly dropped on the floor and their hands to find their way to each other's bodies, touching and groping whatever they can reach. Even through his clothes, Hajime feels amazing under Kenjirō's palms.

But he wants more.

“Bedroom,” Kenjirō orders and Hajime immediately complies, raising him up into his arms, making him wrap his legs around his waist, though he doesn't make his way to his room without grinding into him one last time, making him grunt against his lips.

Kenjirō seems to regain his senses only when he finds himself being thrown onto the bed after bumping into a few corners on the way; the action makes him wince, curse quietly, because it only makes him grow more aroused than he already is when Hajime hovers over him and assaults his lips all over again.

He is a messy kisser, Kenjirō thinks, but maybe it's because everything is happening in such a frenzy and drunken rhythm that it's just hard to stop there and think about the right way to make things go.

Kenjirō is sure about one thing though – this won't be going smoothly.

Greedy hands are sliding up his shirt, touching and feeling all over his pale skin and Kenjirō finds himself being glad he has chosen to approach him in the end.

He moans in surprise when there are teeth grazing the side of his neck, leaving marks in their wake, which he knows won't be seen until the morning after, so Kenjirō doesn't mind and lets the darkness of the room swallow all of them.

Hajime doesn't waste any time in passionate foreplay or gentle touches: the setter's shirt is being unbuttoned rather quickly and Hajime's lips follow the open path on Kenjirō's chest as he gets lower. When the last button is no longer separating them, Hajime pulls away and licks his lips, motioning to Kenjirō to sit up. He obeys without complaining and slides off the cloth, throwing it away and not looking where it lands.

The longing look Hajime gives him when his chest is exposed makes him shiver, but he throws himself back anyway, arching his back and offering himself to the wing spiker, who wastes no time to return to the sensitive skin of his chest and ribs, marking wherever he can reach, tasting the faint traces of sweat.

The palm of his callused hand now travels lower, brushing over Kenjirō's clothed cock, already hard and ready for more, but the moment the teasing begins, the setter's hands fly to Hajime's wrist, blocking his actions.

Hajime pulls away from a flushed nipple with a raised eyebrow.

Kenjirō only smirks and decides to gather some of his strength to roll them over so he is on top. Hajime gasps, but doesn't complain at all. Not when Kenjirō grinds his hips against his, making him groan. When he repeats it the second time, he understands there can't be any more waiting.

“Lube and condoms?”

Hajime blinks a few times. “Huh?”

“Lube and condoms.”

“First drawer.”

Kenjirō nods and moves away, standing up and bending to retrieve the desired items.

“Take off your clothes,” he orders him as he unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans slide down his slender legs. He observes Hajime's parted lips as he watches him for a moment before doing the same.

Kenjirō feels his blood boiling when Hajime's muscles are exposed; he climbs back onto the bed, leaving the small bottle and package aside and focuses on him. Hajime smirks when Kenjirō places a soft kiss on his shoulder and then pushes him down to ravage every single part of him until it's bright red and matching his lips.

At last, when Hajime's impatience starts to come to surface, does the setter finally wrap an elegant hand around his cock. The wing spiker raises on his elbows, green eyes travel to meet hazel and the groan that escapes his throat is low and raspy.

Kenjirō takes his time with careful, slow strokes, wanting to memorize every single part of him, every vein that will soon be inside of him and make him crazy. He hums when a rough hand moves to his cheek and then into his light hair, bringing him closer. He knows what Hajime wants and licks his lips before opening his mouth and finally taking the head of his cock in. The groan he receives in return makes him shiver and he feels warmth spreading through his cheeks and neck.

He takes him bit by bit, breathing through his nose while also focusing to perform at the best of his abilities. He takes as much as he can, makes his tongue swirl around his whole length. He pulls away to catch his breath, because the feeling is overwhelming and his nose isn't enough, and while he does it, he places a kiss on the tip.

The noise coming from the man underneath him makes him shiver – want makes its way into the bit of his stomach and then spreads over his whole being – and he repeats the action. Hajime is getting even harder now and Kenjirō finds it almost amusing, the way he brings an arm to cover his eyes.

He sucks on him, hollowing his cheeks. His eyes never leave Hajime's face.

“I... I won't last long if you keep doing this.”

And Kenjirō knows that more than well.

It is almost a shame that he can't pay more attention to him. A few licks are not what he had in mind, but then again, alcohol does have its negative effect on people, putting annoying limits on them.

He pulls away almost reluctantly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and freeing himself of his own saliva and a little bit of precum already dripping from Hajime's cock.

“Come here,” Hajime growls as he is about to sit up, but the setter immediately pushes him back down, with a simple and dry “no”. Then, his slender hands move to grab lube and condoms forgotten next to the wing spiker. He first opens the package and rolls it over his member, earning a grunt from Hajime.

Then, he adjusts himself on top of him, his legs at each side of him. He first pours some lube over his hand and then uses the other one to balance himself, placing it on Hajime's chest.

He brings his finger behind himself, dragging his index finger over his entrance a couple of times before finally pressing against it. It sinks in without too much trouble – he's done these things enough times to know the procedure.

He lets out a shaky breath.

He pushes until he feels his knuckle and then pulls back out. He smirks when Hajime's hands travel to his thighs, gently caressing the pale skin with open palms, enjoying every single part they can reach.

The second finger joins the first very soon and it is easy to adjust to them now that his arousal is even greater. He moans when he curls them inside of himself and hits his sweet spot. He instinctively brings his hand to Hajime's mouth, sliding his middle finger inside, making the tip slide against his wet tongue.

The third finger is a bit harder to take. He winces ever so slightly, but it is enough for Hajime to notice, despite his drunken state. The warmth on his thighs disappears and soon it is wrapped around Kenjirō's swollen, neglected cock.

Kenjirō's jaw drops open, his back arches and he feels himself growing hungrier for what's to come next. When he feels stretched enough, he pulls out his fingers and takes a hold of the small bottle again. He pours a generous amount on his hand and smears it all over Hajime's cock, before shifting slightly forward and finally, finally lowering his hips, making him sink in down to the base in one go.

The moan he lets out is loud – he doesn't remember ever being this loud.

Hajime groans underneath him, his hands back onto him, holding onto his hips and wasting no time to thrust into that tight heat, making them both groan.

Kenjirō can't deny the surprise when Hajime's hips start moving at a frantic pace, pushing up into him even though he could barely stand less than half an hour ago. And despite the fact that it feels so damn good, he pushes the two fingers he's still holding inside his mouth further, making Hajime cough, his movements stop.

He receives a confused look and he only chuckles. He starts to move his hips on his own, incredibly slow, trying to tighten his inner muscles every now and then and enjoying when Hajime's eyes fall shut and his voice comes out in deep, husky, moans.

He increases the pace gradually, lets Hajime hold his hips – even though he doesn't bother to try and take charge again.

Kenjirō shifts ever so slightly, changing the angle a little until his prostate is being his with every single meeting of hips. “Oh, God...” he whispers, throwing his head back and increasing his pace even more.

“Ah! Mmh...” Hajime moans. “Oik-”

Kenjirō's eyes fly open and before he is able to finish hearing that damn name, his hand is pressed violently onto Hajime's mouth and his brown eyes burn with irritation as much as they burn with desire.

“No.”

He is not going to let him say that.

Hajime shudders as Kenjirō grinds onto him, taking all of him once again.

“My name... Say it,” he tells him and ignores the sting brought by Hajime's fingers, who dig into the hollow of the setter's hipbones. Kenjirō removes his hand.

“ _My_ name.”

Hajime takes in a few deep breaths, trying to gather what's left of his shattered, drunken thoughts as Kenjirō gives a roll of his hips.

“Shirabu,” comes as a quiet whisper and it makes shivers run down his spine and satisfaction grow in the pit of his stomach, along with something else.

The rhythm of their movements is once again frantic. But this is good, even though his legs are starting to ache slightly from the constant strain – he can take this. He has endured worse things. Kenjirō struggles to recognize his own voice – Hajime is starting to stutter, his fingers clawing into the other's buttocks, spreading them apart to give him an even better access.

Kenjirō's head spins when he feels him reaching even deeper.

It doesn't take long before Hajime's breathing becomes even more erratic. The sweat on his forehead and the expression of pure ecstasy is showing just how close he is. He's pushing inside of Kenjirō with pure brute force now, and if it weren't for the insistent hand keeping him down, he would have already been on top, pushing him into the mattress until his senses were blank.

“I'm... I-”

“I know,” Kenjirō cuts him off, moaning immediately after. His free hand moves to his cock and he strokes himself quickly, trying but failing at keeping Hajime's relentless pace. And then he feels himself being pulled in one last time and it is the strongest feeling he's felt in a long time – it makes him lose his balance, makes him fall forward on Hajime's chest as the latter groans and empties himself inside of him.

It takes a couple more strokes for Kenjirō to come too; he spills on Hajime's stomach and chest, moaning the entire time as Hajime keeps grinding into him through his orgasm.

“Yes... Yes. _Yes_.”

Kenjirō places a wet kiss in the crook of Hajime's neck. Even though he should be satisfied, he kind of wants more. But when Hajime makes him raise his hips so he can pull out, the setter realizes just how tired the man underneath him is. He kisses him on the cheek, then on the corner of his mouth.

Kenjirō can't deny that there is a slight bit of happiness when Hajime pulls him closer and deepens his simple peck on the lips, sliding in his tongue and sighing into it.

At some point, Kenjirō raises his aching hips, making Hajime's now limp cock slide out of him, but he keeps kissing him and Hajime keeps kissing him back. It is... kind of unusual indeed – Kenjirō doesn't really remember ever kissing this much.

When he pulls away to breathe, Hajime drops his head on his pillow, exhaling heavily. He looks spent – he definitely can't go for another round, even though Kenjirō would _really_ like one.

But it doesn't matter.

He's already got more than he would have ever expected, so he kisses him again and Hajime kisses back lazily, gently licking and tugging on his bottom lip until his body grows still.

Kenjirō sighs and watches Hajime sleep underneath him for a while, enjoying the heat emanating from his body, and then moves to the side, sighing when his body comes in contact with the comfortable mattress of Hajime's bed.

From his past experiences, Kenjirō knows that he'd better not be found here in the morning; one night stands usually have something underneath and he must admit he is kind of sick of awkward meetings and hopeless attempts at conversation.

That's why, after he has fully regained his breath, he turns on the lamp on the bedside table and cleans himself up with the tissues he finds on the nightstand. After considering it for a minute, he decides to clean up Hajime as well, taking off the used condom and throwing it into the trash bin close to his desk. His legs feel wobbly when he walks, but they find relief when he returns to the bed and wipes away the cum on the other's abdomen and chest. In response, he receives a quiet mumble.

His hand can't resist and goes to his cheek, brushing the tanned skin gently.

Kenjirō's always remembered him.

An ace anyone can rely on – memories of him comforting Oikawa Tooru after every single loss hits him; the way he used to hold him, make him cry out every frustration his worthless team brought upon him and giving his best to be strong enough not to crumble in front of him. He's never meant to witness any of them, but strange coincidences always made him be in the perfect time and place.

Hajime's strong arms wrapped around his former Captain is something Kenjirō has always wanted for himself as well, but has never had the chance to obtain, no matter how hard he tried.

His hand is replaced by his lips, a quiet “Goodnight,” mumbled into the darkness.

He is about to roll over to get out of bed for the last time, but he doesn't manage to do as much as move, because Hajime's heavy body is doing the same, and a heavy arm wraps around his upper body, trapping his arms, pushing him down and holding him in place. Kenjirō winces, tries to shove it off, but ends up being pulled away into that unknown warmth not even a second later.

It makes him stop breathing, it makes his blood rush and he doesn't know what to do.

The spiker's warm, breath sticks to his sweaty nape and Kenjirō can't help but feel the slight dizziness overcoming him, and this one is not the alcohol's fault.

“Stay.”

It is almost inaudible, and he believes to be hallucinating for a moment. But the way he is brought even closer makes him certain. With difficulty, he manages to turn around, burying his face into his partner's neck and exhale.

“Stay...”

It's even quieter than the first one, but he's listening carefully now. And he understands it.

He nods into the heated skin.

“Okay.”

He doesn't hold back a smile – the new experience has definitely started with the right man, but he can't help but wonder if Iwaizumi Hajime still is the same man even without Oikawa Tooru around.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I don't know how this happened. I really don't, I swear.
> 
> People wanted to know more about these two, even outside AO3 and I just couldn't say no to them. I know I have sooo many things to do, so many works to go on with, and even this time I can't promise frequent updates, since... well, priorities. 
> 
> But thankfully this one is meant to be a short thing, just to deepen Shirabu's and Iwa-chan's relationship a little more, since I can't afford myself to give them more importance in the main fic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> ***
> 
> Thank you very much for all the Kudos, Comments and Bookmarks! They really mean a lot to me, you can't even imagine!
> 
> ***
> 
> This is NOT the third part of the main series, don't worry. It's just a short spin-off! So, my dear UshiOi brothers and sisters, don't worry, the hell is not even close to being done! :)
> 
> ***
> 
> To those who aren't familiar with the other parts of this series and are interested in reading this, I hightly suggest to check them out, to understand the dynamic between the characters a little better. 
> 
> Without the main plot, this work may appear full of plot holes.


	2. Realizations, Introductions and Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shouldn't we at least get to know each other?”
> 
> “Of course we should, Iwaizumi-san.”
> 
> Hajime has the feeling he isn't done talking.
> 
> And he is right.
> 
> “I have nothing to do today. What about you?”

The first realization that dawns on Iwaizumi Hajime, as he opens his eyes, is that his head hurts badly.

He sighs heavily, the action causing him even more pain, and he is almost afraid to sit up, because he knows from previous experiences - which he always tries to use as a reminder not to put himself in this condition (although, every time he fails miserably) - that the moment he does, he will start to feel like shit.

However, when he tries, in the haziness of his mind, to recall the last time he felt _this_ bad, _this_ exhausted, he remembers the day of the welcome party the seniors of the team organized, after which he had to sleep in for the whole morning and afternoon, with Kōshi coming in every now and then to bring him a glass of water and ice for his head.

This time, too, he figures he must have been so wasted that he won't be able to move properly for the whole day - his eyelids are still heavy and there is a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that's telling him he'll have to get up and head to the bathroom to throw up. Soon. But not yet.

His brain is still unable to order to his body to move.

He blinks a few times, trying to recollect his thoughts and memories (at least the number of drinks he had) from the night before.

And _dammit_.

He doesn't remember a thing.

His room is unusually warm though, and oh so pleasantly dark, with lowered blinds and closed curtains. He is tempted to stay in bed for a little while more. It's not like he has anything to do anyway – it's Sunday, and his exams won't start until the end of January. He can waste some time and spend it with his sheets and pillows.

Without thinking about it twice (he blames on the laziness, but he is just incapable of even trying to form an imaginary sentence in his head).

He closes his eyes and falls into another dreamless slumber in a matter of seconds, completely ignoring the shifting, the heat next to him, the arm wrapped against his waist.

***

In his dreams he sees Tooru.

Tall and muscular and _healthy_ – more than he's ever been in the years they spent together. He is sitting out a table, far away, and Hajime stands behind glass, only watching.

Tooru doesn't see him, not even when he takes a step closer, leaning against the transparent surface with his hands, knocking on it with his fists, calling his name.

He sits and looks somewhere at the wall in front of him, until Wakatoshi is walking in, gold eyes focused on Hajime, ordering him to stay away, to shut up, until he is close to his partner. Only then does he look at him, at those big hazel eyes that are now turned away from Hajime, the chances for him to be noticed lowering to zero.

“ _Oikawa!”_ he calls once more, but this time he doesn't even hear his own voice and right when Wakatoshi leans down to kiss the gorgeous man, Hajime feels hands on his chest, dragging him away. He struggles, tries to break free, but he just isn't able to. He tries to look back, but he is unable to that too.

“ _Let me go! I want... I want to go to him!”_ he cries, the glass's distance now larger. Hajime tries to take another step forward, but he keeps being dragged away, a soft voice behind him repeating the same two words over and over and over.

“ _Forget him.”_

***

When he regains consciousness for the second time, he feels a little better – still far from feeling alright, but he finally able to turn his head and look to his side, taking a good look of the small digital clock on his bedside table, whose red numbers are telling him it's half past eleven in the morning. Quite late indeed, but the idea of standing up still isn't tempting enough.

After a little while spent on staring at the clock, he finally notices a glass and an aspirin behind it, both placed neatly on one of their smaller plates, next to the lamp.

Hajime licks his dry lips, wincing slightly at the chapped skin and, after hesitating a bit, he finally decides to sit up. Surprisingly, it isn't as painful as he thought it would be – sure, his head hurts, but it's not that usual pain and dizziness that he used to go through when he first started to have nights like this.

Perhaps he was wrong. He must have been feeling worse before because he didn't get enough sleep. It is entirely possible.

He swallows the pill and then the water, holding the glass with a shaky hand, exhaling in relief. It shouldn't take too long before they start having effect – or at least he hopes so. If Kōshi and Daichi are at home, he would like to at least be able to tell them 'good morning' without stumbling over the words.

In any case, he begins to wonder how he managed to return here as he throws the covers off his body.

The second realization of the morning that dawns on him is the fact that he is completely naked. And he immediately tries to figure out _why_ he is noticing it only _now_ \- the feeling of the covers brushing over his naked body is usually unmistakable – and frankly, he can't believe he didn't even put his underwear on.

Then he looks around the room, inspecting it carefully – as careful as he can be in the darkness at least - and when he takes a closer look, he notices there are way too many clothes scattered on the floor.

One shirt only – and even though he wouldn't swear on it, it doesn't appear to be his - but lots of other garments.

He swallows hard at that.

_Could it be-_

No.

He never brings home his one-night stands.

It can't be possible.

Or can it?

He tries to remember more, but nothing comes to his head except the ache. He curses under his breath, mentally damning those painkillers for not being stronger and for not having kicked in already.

He throws heavy legs from the edge of the bed, exhaling as the cool pavement and his warm feet come in contact. After spending five whole minutes between blinking and rubbing his temples with a pressure strong enough to press all the nerves properly, he finally reaches out for his pillow, under which he pulls out the clothes he usually sleeps in.

It takes him a lot of time to put them on. Well, more than it usually takes. His movements are slow, limbs heavy... But eventually he manages to finish and then stand up.

The first place he heads to is the bathroom, not wasting much time to meditate and collect himself, where he throws his stomach and soul out after a strike of nausea hits him, his hands gripping his head almost angrily – when has it become so heavy?

He takes a mental note to take another pill after putting some food in his mouth, because this one doesn't even last for the forty minutes he spends in the bathroom, arms wrapped loosely against the toilet.

When his stomach is completely empty and upside down, he sits back on the tiled floor, leaning himself onto the wall for support, and stands up only several minutes later, when he is breathing normally again and when he doesn't feel like he could drop unconscious at any moment.

There are voices coming from the kitchen.

He wonders whether he is imagining things (after all, it wouldn't be the first time).

The small hall he has to cross is dark, which is a blessing for Hajime's unfocused and tired eyes, but he can see light coming from the kitchen and living room, and the voices are getting louder and-

When he arrives, he is greeted by an already cheerful Kōshi and Daichi, but for some reason his eyes don't see them. Sure, he greets them back, his voice deep and raw from sleep and he can't help but let out a grunt when there is another sting coming from his head, making him once again feel like it could explode if he only moves it a little quicker.

“Good morning, Iwaizumi-san.”

Kenjirō sits at the counter, next to his roommates, a cup with freshly made coffee in it held in his hands, still steaming hot. The smell has spread all over the place; this is one of the rare times that Kōshi made it traditionally and not with their small coffee machine.

But he still only looks at Kenjirō. It takes him less than ten seconds to realize he is wearing one of his t-shirts when he finally focuses. His dark blue briefs are visible even though the garment is rather large for him - it might reach the top of his thighs if he stands up.

“Morning,” he mumbles and hesitantly walks over to the counter, his mind dizzy, but desperately trying to cling to even a piece of his memories from last night – because he doesn't remember _a thing._

He feels his roommates' eyes glued onto him, silently asking for explanations and he can only reply with a small shrug and confusion before he manages to sit in front of the former setter of Shiratorizawa. He meets his eyes, so brown and warm, and perhaps understanding; Kenjirō doesn't say a single word.

Daichi finishes to set the table, handing to Hajime his usual breakfast made of miso soup, mackerel and rice, along with a “Eat what you can.” He then adjusts the collar of his shirt and looks at Kōshi. “Ready to go?”

Hajime's widen and he violently turns his head to the side, the action causing it to spin. But he isn't faltered. “Go? Where?”

Daichi raises his eyebrows. “Wow, you are really out of it. We have to buy a few things before we leave for our trip, remember? Our three days at the onsen?”

His boyfriend nods. “I'll leave him in your hands, Shirabu-san. I do believe you have certain matters to discuss in private anyway.”

Kenjirō nods, standing up and bowing slightly – Hajime was right. The shirt _does_ reach the top of his pale thighs. “Don't worry about that. Thank you for the food.”

And then they go behind the wall dividing the entrance from the open space; there is some shuffling of jackets and shoes, during which Hajime only holds his breath, not really knowing where to look after he removes his gaze from the younger boy.

Then, the door is being shut close.

It brings silence to the space.

Hajime licks his lips, now less chapped after being hydrated, slowly, and then glances once more at the other man, who is calmly slipping his coffee, light hazel eyes lost on a certain title on the newspaper next to him.

There isn't really something he wants to say – sure, he would really like to know how things went the night before, but he can't deny the fear of knowing that, if he finds out, it will all became just a tad more real; and after the brief conversation with Wakatoshi, he isn't sure he would be able to handle it.

Not now that he broke Keiko's heart in order to preserve his obsessive love for Tooru.

He-

He screwed up.

_Right?_

He winces when the setter stands up and heads to the cupboard to pull a mug, in which he then pours some coffee. Hajime stares at his back, swaddled in his t-shirt, and his mouth is suddenly very dry.

“Umm...” He isn't sure how to do this. Kenjirō turns around, hands him the drink and Hajime accepts without thinking twice, watching as he returns to his place. “How much did I miss from last night?”

Kenjirō looks at him for a moment, perhaps a little puzzled (Hajime can't figure it out). “Well, apparently _a lot_ of it.” His words certainly don't help Hajime's dizziness; he miserably keeps looking at him, the third realization of the day now sinking in fully. “Did we... You know-”

“Yes.”

Kenjirō cuts him off, simple and clear, and Hajime shuts his mouth. He immediately drinks down half of his coffee and regrets it soon after because it makes him feel _so_ _damn_ sick.

_Oh._

“Fuck.”

Kenjirō's chuckle is audible even though the boy clearly tries to hold it back. Hajime's hand flies to the back of his head, and embarrassment makes its way into him, nestling right between his stomach and ribcage, to make worse his already pitiful conditions, but the setter seems to be having his fun, given by the amused look in his eyes, which are now glued to his face and never leaving.

“You are really pale. You should not worry too much about it, because both of us were willing. I can assure it for myself, of course. You were very out of it and... kind of eager.”

Hajime feels his blood freezing.

“Would you perhaps like to know some details?”

Hajime swears he can feels his own skin losing its color. He looks at the surface of the counter, his food still untouched. How could he forget? How could he possibly forget something of that matter? Kenjirō must be feeling sick with himself – or better, sick with him; he's always scolded Tooru when he forgot girls' names and brushed it off like nothing; but at least he's always known how to get out of these kinds of situations.

“It was nice, don't worry. I don't blame you for forgetting. As I have already said, you were out of it.”

Hajime looks at him and finds him smiling.

Memories hit him like a ton of bricks.

“ _My name... Say it.”_

Hajime feels blood rush underneath the skin of his cheeks, making them burn stronger with each passing second. Kenjirō just stares at him, playing with the cup in his hands. Hajime licks his lips and finally takes a sip of his coffee.

He doesn't really know what to say.

Is there anything to say?

The setter's gaze sets on the light coming from the window of their living room and Hajime is the one staring now.

“You know,” Kenjirō begins, slowly. “I wish it lasted longer.”

Hajime almost spits what's in his mouth; the liquid gets stuck in his throat, causing him a bad coughing fit. “Excuse me?” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks burning hot.

Kenjirō blinks then, and when he realizes what he just said, and more importantly _how_ he said it, he shakes his head, raising his hands. “That's not what I meant! I meant I wish we could have done a lot more than just one round. The length was... More than satisfying.”

Hajime sets down his cup. He doesn't want to die yet.

Kenjirō eyes it, his lips still curved up. “It'll be much better next time, I assure you. I'll make sure you remember it too.”

Hajime blinks, not sure if he's hearing things right or if it's still his headache that's messing with him. _Next time?_ He changes his mind at this point gulps down another sip of his coffee and frowns when he realizes it is the last before his cup is empty. Before he is able to even focus on it, Kenjirō is on his feet and is pouring him another dose of it, while he fumbles with his temporarily free hands, green eyes lost in them.

“I... What?” Hajime asks then.

The setter shrugs and forces a small smile. “Iwaizumi-san, do I perhaps look like a one-night-stand guy to you?”

Hajime blushes, immediately shakes his head at the implication. “No! Absolutely not... It's just...”

Kenjirō raises an eyebrow, looking at him somewhat interested. “Just what?”

“I mean... I didn't think you were looking for a relationship. Especially from... Someone like me.”

“I am not looking for a relationship. But I like you.”

Hajime wonders just what shade of red has he turned into by now – he could probably be a great competition to tomeatoes. He isn't sure of any of this – he doesn't even know this boy except from their few previous matches, and even then his main concern has always been Wakatoshi and his feared and powerful left hand.

He doesn't know what to answer to him.

“Shouldn't we at least get to know each other?”

“Of course we should, Iwaizumi-san.”

Hajime has the feeling he isn't done talking.

And he is right.

“I have nothing to do today. What about you?”

Green eyes widen for a split second, before realization dawns on him. “Are you really sure about... this?”

“I have nothing to lose. Besides, your roommates are going to be away for three days. I believe that is more than enough time to spend together to get to know each other better, and perhaps repeat and make better the events of last night.”

Hajime doesn't expect a kiss on his lips when he tries to reply to that, but he receives it, gentle and slow. There is a part of him that's still confused, but the larger part of him is in control and is making him kiss back, moving his hands to grab the setter's arms and shifting their position so he is making him standing between his legs.

Despite the younger one being pretty much unknown, Hajime still feels a certain familiarity on his lips, on his tongue, unspoken words and suppressed feelings he knows are inside of him too. But maybe they can make them go away and forget hem even for brief moments, burying them under gasps and moans similar to those of the previous evening, then covering them with words, information about themselves.

Hajime decides to dare a little more, decides to pull him a little closer.

It is strange to notice that he somehow fits between his arms just fine.

No.

Maybe more than fine.

***

In less than twenty minutes, Hajime finds himself with his back pressed against the counter, hands gripping tightly the edge, his forehead and neck sweaty and his breathing erratic. Kenjirō kneels in front of him, soft lips wrapped around Hajime's achingly hard cock.

Slender hands are holding Hajime's hips in place as the setter bobs his head, alternating his ministrations between sucking and licking wet stripes all over the wing spiker's shaft, tongue tracing every swollen vein covering it.

“Oh, God...” Hajime groans, the hangover completely forgotten, just as Kenjirō promised.

Hajime finds those brown eyes looking up at him and he can't help but blush lightly – he isn't used to this. Not when he's sober at least.

Kenjirō's left hand moves from his hips to cup his balls, and he fondles them gently before he tilts his head and takes them in his mouth, tongue teasing the sensitive skin, much gentler.

Hajime throws his head back, feeling his knuckles turning white.

The setter's hand around his cock begins to move faster, and, without him being able to control them, Hajime's hips begin to move as well, quickly.

Kenjirō hums in appreciation before pressing his lips once more against the swollen tip and allowing Hajime to thrust in his mouth by removing his hands from him and leaning them against the cupboards under the counters instead, to support himself.

Hajime hisses when he feels that heavenly wet tongue gliding over the underside of his cock, brushing over a thick vein, and when he finally feels Kenjirō's nose pressed against dark hairs, he groans.

The setter doesn't appear to have a gag reflex and the mere thought of this possibility makes something crest at the bottom of his spine, along with the morbid curiosity and wonder of how much can this man actually take. He tightens his grip on his head, hips thrusting faster now.

He spots a trace of tears forming at the corner of his eyes, and drool coming out of that delicious mouth. But his jaw is relaxed completely, and it takes Hajime's cock without even coughing or having to stop for a second to breath. Kenjirō inhales through his nose, tilting his head gently and moving his tongue just so _right_ that makes Hajime wonder just how many times has he already done it.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. He wants this. He wants to cum, and the tension in his abdomen only seems to lead to that. He hates to admit it, but he is really pent up. Because of volleyball and various lessons and the few tests he had to take during the last weeks, he didn't manage to provide and satisfy his needs.

And now...

Kenjirō mumbles something, the words completely destroyed in a mess of vowels and a sultry tone of voice.

Hajime groans, pulling himself out of that wet heat and narrows his eyes. “Don't talk when your mouth is full,” he scolds, the behavior stronger than him.

Kenjirō chuckles. “Cum in my mouth.”

Hajime growls and then they are back to the way they were before, Kenjirō's hands clawing Hajime's thighs now.

When Hajime cums, he moans loudly, eyes closing for just a moment, before he remembers them to open them and to look at the sight underneath him. Kenirō is taking everything in, breathing through his nose as Hajime empties himself, eyes fluttering shut as he hums.

Hajime's grip on his hair tightens impossibly and he pushes his hips forward as much as he can.

Once he is empty and satisfied, he lets go, leaning back against the counter once more, exhaling heavily and panting hard. It is hard to keep his heartbeat and breathing under control. His head still aches, but that one thing is overwhelmed by the whole mix of sensation coming from this.

Kenjirō pulls away carefully, dragging his tongue once more over the underside of Hajime's cock, gathering all the cum. Then, he swallows it and Hajime feels his gut clench.

“You didn't-”

“I wanted to,” Kenjirō interrupts, raising his hand.

He stands up on wobbly legs, his knees having been pressed way too much against the tiled floor. He licks his lips before proceeding to adjust Hajime's pants for him, and then turns away, returning to his mug of now cold coffee and Hajime is speechless at this... _normality_ with which he is handling this whole situation.

“Do you want something else to eat? I won't finish my breakfast anyway,” he says and mentally slaps himself for the stupidity of the topic he's chosen.

“No, I am alright, thank you.”

Hajime shuts his mouth, eyes looking around nervously. “Umm... Is it okay if I have a shower?”

“Sure, go ahead,” is the only response.

Hajime awkwardly stumbles out of the kitchen and back to where he came from. He stops by his room and picks up all the scattered clothes, his and Kenjirō's and brings them to the chest of dirty laundry, wanting to do it later.

He then undresses and steps into the shower.

The pill has started to kick in a little better – there won't be need for a second one and it's a relief. Hajime is not a big fan of medicines, despite being a med student.

He washes himself quickly, still thinking about the young man waiting for him in the kitchen and he feels his body burning – though he tells himself it's because of the heat of the water – and there is that little part of him that's telling him to hurry up, a certain crave in the pit of his stomach for something more than just sex agreeing.

In less than fifteen minutes, he is out, wrapping a towel around his waist.

He looks at himself in the mirror, wondering just how all of this happened, but he decides it's not worth his time; he's never been a thinker. He prefers concrete facts and actions, so he heads out and into his room, where he takes out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt – the apartment is always warm in winter; Kōshi loves to keep it that way, because he easily gets annoyed when he or Daichi complain.

When he returns, he finds Kenjirō sitting on the couch, all alone, in silence.

“Oi,” he calls him and sees him turning his head to look at him.

“You already finished,” he mumbles and Hajime nods with a smile. He sits down them, next to him, but at a distance wide enough for them not to be touching. Suddenly, all of Hajime's crave to be back with him seems to be replaced by tension all over again.

Just what is he supposed to do?

He knows nothing about this man, and yet, he is sitting next to him, while he's only wearing his underwear and one of Hajime's shirts.

He feels his palms sweating.

“You could have turned on the TV,” he tells him then, and does it himself, just to hear something in the background that will, hopefully, make him forget about the dread poisoning his guts.

The sports channel is their default channel right now. It's everything they watch, except for a couple of movies and the news, occasionally, to not end up as complete idiots when it comes to knowledge about what's happening in the world.

Turning on the TV results to be a bad idea.

The first thing that pops up on the screen is Tooru's face.

Hajime curses silently.

Wakatoshi is next to him as well, and they are being interviewed about the National team, as still the newest entries. They answer politely, Wakatoshi as serious as ever and Tooru wearing the same charming smile he usually does at every interview – Hajime remembers when he used to hit him in high school for that.

( _How he misses it..._ )

He feels the cushions shifting and when he glances to the side, he finds Kenjirō pulling his legs up into his chest, his jas tight.

He doesn't ask; the way he looks at that screen says it all.

Toori is talking now, about the teammates and the coaches and a few funny things that happened lately during practice and he is talking about how happy he is to be there.

“We have some questions from out fans now, Oikawa-san, Ushijima-san. Is that okay?”

“Of course!” Tooru replies for both of them.

Hajime reaches out for the remote control, but Kenjirō stops him by blocking his wrist. He wants to see it, apparently – Hajime wonders why is it that his expression is so miserable.

“Is there anything you regret or wish you could redo?”

Hajime clenches his teeth, but makes no move to break free and instead leans back.

Tooru turns to look at Wakatoshi, an elegant eyebrow raised. Wakatoshi looks back at him before they all return their focus to the woman. “No, I don't think so.”

“What about you, Ushijima-san?”

“It is the same for me, I believe.”

The host nods.

“You are also still in college, right? How do you balance your time between studies and volleyball?”

Tooru proceeds to talk about everything, his schedules and how he divides them and also how he also works part time and...

Hajime doesn't want to hear him anymore.

“Do you also manage to find time for dating?”

Hajime doesn't miss how Tooru's eyes flicker to Wakatoshi for a split second before he smiles. “Yes, I'm in a very happy and stable relationship.”

“Oh, many ladies will sure be disappointed to hear that,” the woman jokes and Tooru laughs, rubbing the back of his neck and offering her his best expression.

“And Ushijima-san? Are you also seeing someone?”

“Yes, I am,” comes the simple reply.

The interview goes on for another twenty minutes, before it is over and Hajime finally manages to obtain Kenjirō's quiet permission to change the channel.

He then looks at him, finds him fumbling with his hands, all the confidence form before gone and forgotten.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Kenjirō shrugs. “I don't know.”

Hajime presses his lips into a thin line. He wants to know what's bothering him and he wants to make it better – not that he's any less broken; but maybe they can mend it a bit together.

He shifts closer to him and he finds hazel eyes staring at him. He smiles softly and kisses him on the forehead, gently, slowly...

He feels slender hands gripping at his shirt and soon they are sprawled out over the whole couch, Hajime on top of Kenjirō, face buried in his neck. The younger boy relaxes underneath him, sighing and allowing himself to be swallowed by the warmth irradiating from Hajime's body.

“I'm tired,” he mumbles quietly and Hajime nods. “I'll stand up and let you sleep then.”

Kenjirō doesn't let him.

***

They spend the next three days together. It isn't really planned in the beginning. After falling asleep on the couch and waking up in the evening, Hajime just asks Kenjirō to stay and Kenjirō reveals him about his déjà vu and accepted without blinking an eye.

On the last day, when they are in the kitchen, Kenjirō back in his own clothes and Hajime making dinner for them, there is silence until Hajime sets the table.

“Um... Shirabu...”

“Yes?”

“I'd like to take you out someday. If you have some free time... or if you want to, I mean...”

Kenjirō blinks in confusion, his eyes observing carefully Hajime's face. “I...”

“I'd like to get to know you better,” he tells him, a little nervous, because he isn't used to this, to asking people out, especially _after_ sleeping with them. It wasn't like this with Keiko. They had met on campus and everything that existed between them grew naturally, slowly, _in the right order._

It is scary to think that he must... Build everything on his own for the third time. He doesn't know if he could handle an eventual third fall. It almost makes him want to retire his words. _Almost._

“Of course.”

Hajime smiles. “Okay.”

***

Their getting to know each other lasts barely three months.

Hajime doesn't know how or why, or what could have possibly turned a drunk fuck into a relationship. It is not like him, not when he's spent the better part of his childhood, no, _all_ of his childhood looking after Tooru, taking care of Tooru, kissing and making love to Tooru, because he's always been everything he's ever wanted.

And yet, now he finds himself lying on his bed, wondering and minding less and less with every passing second, a different setter than Tooru underneath him placing gentle kisses on his lips; humble kisses that Hajime strangely loves enough to want more.

Kenjirō is no idiot.

Hajime is no idiot either. Okay, maybe he is. He definitely is.

But he knows he isn't the only one with conflicted feelings about this. Kenjirō told him about his feelings for Wakatoshi and he himself refused to hold back details from what kept bothering him for a couple years now. It is definitely not a topic people talk about while starting a new relationship, but they are both aware of one thing.

If things aren't clear since the beginning, then it will all turn to nothing sooner or later – he learned that the hard way and he doesn't want it to happen again, that uncomfortable feeling in his guts having pursued him for weeks.

Strangely, finding out about Kenjirō's unrequited love for Ushijima Wakatoshi made him feel at peace. Because he won't be the only one with a heavy burden on his back in this _thing_ between them.

He wraps his arms around the smaller boy's frame tighter, pulls his body into his own until they can barely move on their own, and he hears a content hum that makes an entire load of trouble disappear from his spine.

***

“I'd like to take you out,” Hajime says again.

Kenjirō looks up from his book, an eyebrow raised. “But we go out all the time.”

Hajime shakes his head. “I want a proper, official date,” he tells him, laughing. Kenjirō tilts his head to the side and Hajime laughs harder. “Wow, that sounds really pathetic... But I mean it.”

Kenjirō puts down his book, takes a sip of his coffee from the mug that is now his in Hajime's apartment. Then, he nods. “Of course.”

***

Hajime picks a small restaurant, which Kōshi indicated for him, telling him it is nice and that he and Daichi had spent lots of nice evenings there.

He walks side by side with Kenjirō and the waitress leads them to their spot, which a bit separated from the other people, just like the wing spiker had requested when making the reservation.

This is their first serious date and he wants to make the most of it.

The girl brings them the menu and they take a few minutes to each other to choose their food and once they place the orders, their attention is back to each other.

They talk, everything is normal.

Everything is how it's supposed to be.

They agree on some things, they don't on others, but there is no fighting.

Hajime hasn't been so serene in a while.

Somehow volleyball pops up, and Kenjirō doesn't forget to mention his height issue. He wishes he was taller and Hajime can't help but chuckle, remembering his own wish. But Kenjirō keeps talking about Shiratorizawa, and about how all of them were huge, especially their sadistic middle blocker, Satori.

He is careful not to mention Wakatoshi, Hajime notices, so he doesn't ask about him and refrains himself from speaking about Tooru.

Speaking about volleyball and not mentioning Tooru...

It's hard.

But they have told each other about everything regarding them, about their unrequited love, about the heartache and about shattered (stolen) dreams.

They speak about matches and Hajime suddenly can't help but ask what's been bothering him ever since they started to hang out. “How come I don't see you around during Inter High preliminaries?”

The setter only shrugs. “I don't play anymore,” he tells him and his expression tells Hajime enough for him to drop the subject and finish with a simple, “It's a shame.”

As the conversation comes to an end and their food arrives, instead of the usual “Itadakimasu” comes a: “Genetics is a bitch.”

They pause in their actions, the setter with the salt in his hand, Hajime with the pepper. They burst laughing, trying to be as quiet as possible, but failing miserably. Some of the customers Hajime can see from behind the corner are looking towards them, so he puts his hand on his mouth instead, Kenjirō doing the same.

The rest of the dinner goes on smoothly, with more small talk and information about their backgrounds and then they get out of there and into a nearby park. It is the beginning of spring, but for some reason there are no people around.

So they walk alone, beside a small pond, hand in hand because they can.

“You know, Iwaizumi-san-”

“I already told you to at least drop the -san.”

The younger boy nods with a smile. “I am sorry. I am still not used to the informality,” he tells him. Hajime nods, because it's weird, but calling people by only their surname has proven to be an easy thing for him, so he never really understood it and he figures it'd be worth it to show at least some kind of sympathy for a man coming from a strict school like Shiratorizawa.

“What is it?”

Kenjirō stops now, and Hajime stops with him. Hazel eyes shine much brighter with the light provided by the lamps in the park and he watches towards the water, spotting a sleeping swan next to it.

“Back when we were in high school, when we used to win against Aobajōsai, I usually find myself caught in the same scenes every time.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow, not really understanding.

“Oikawa-san would storm out of the gym and Ushijima-san would go after him. He would tell him that he should have come to Shiratorizawa and Oikawa-san would get so angry and reject him.”

Hajime grits his teeth. He's seen those scenes too, each and every single one containing a new insult to their team. He hated Wakatoshi; he probably still does.

“Then, I would see Oikawa-san leave to you.”

Hajime blinks.

“You would comfort him every single time.”

Hajime nods reluctantly. “He was my best friend.” That _was_ feels wrong against his tongue – fortunately it slips out of his mouth and in the pleasantly chilly air. “And the Captain. He needed to be in top shape for the motivational speeches in the locker rooms. And... Well, he never really knew how to handle those situations. Ushiwaka never really helped in that.”

And yet he chose him.

But Hajime understands. He rarely ever hears about him losing, which means that wrecked state of mind of Tooru's must also be gone.

“I always envied him,” Kenjirō says then, quiet, but his voice echoes in the silence.

Hajime gasps. “What?”

The younger boy lets out a quiet laugh at the reaction. “You were always a team better than us. You had relationships among yourselves, supported each other and Oikawa-san led you as much as you led him. And the two of you... I have never seen such a bond between a setter and an ace – I do not know whether it was your friendship that made you like this or something else, but nonetheless, I wanted it.”

Hajime doesn't believe what he is hearing, and before he has the chance to say something, the other continues.

“Ushijima-san was a strong captain and ace, but in the few games we did lose, he only motivated us to keep practicing. He never... reassured me or tell me I was a good setter. In his eyes, there was only Oikawa-san.”

Hajime swallows. “Is this why you aren't playing anymore? Because of Ushiwaka?”

The setter shakes his head. “No. I can not deny that I have always wanted a bond with him like the one between you and Oikawa-san, but I stopped also because there was only Ushijima-san as my ace, in my eyes. And for several other reasons.”

“But-”

“I would rather not continue this conversation. I just... wanted to get it off my chest.”

Hajime closes his mouth and then tightens his grip on Kenjirō's smaller hand. He takes a step closer and leans down to kiss him. He feels a light surprised gasp, but doesn't open his eyes to meet wide hazel.

Kenjirō's always wanted this. And he is going to give him his best.

Not because he feels pity, nor does he feel somehow called in cause. He knows what it feels like to play volleyball when you are not having fun – he's seen Tooru like that in their last year of middle school, and he will do everything he can to avoid seeing another person suffering for the same reasons.

They return to his apartment, greet quietly Daichi and Kōshi and retreat to Hajime's bedroom, where they make love all night, quietly, for the first time even gently, with Hajime on top of Kenjirō, pressing him into the mattress and swallowing his moans.

Later they fall asleep, legs tangled, Hajime's arms wrapped around the smaller boy.

Before his mind slips away, Hajime glances at the empty ceiling and realizes that he hasn't felt so good in a while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. You must probably want to kill me. How long has it been? Since March, if I recall correctly? I'm so sorry... (T_T)
> 
> I hope you forgive me though, because I haven't forgotten!
> 
> I'm trying my best to work a little at a time on every single fic I have yet to finish. This one will be much shorter than planned; I usually thought I would make it into six chapters, but as I kept on writing, I realized it would be over way sooner. I am only going to put here the most important events of IwaShira's life together - the UshiOi keeps dragging me and my poor, lonely mind away!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I had it almost complete for a while now and while rereading it today, I feld a train of pain coming towards me to pick me up. I might have cried a bit at the memory of what I've done to these two poor sould in the main plot, haha, so forgive me if there are any mistakes left. I will reread it once again when I'm feeling a little better and when I have nothing else on my mind.
> 
> I once again apologize for making you wait. Hopefully, the last chapter will be up before the end of summer.
> 
> ***
> 
> Thank you in advance for every Kudo, Comment and Bookmark. The support means so much to me and gives me lots of motivation and inspiration to continue! I'll see you at the next update! :)


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